Rise of the Blood Royal dobas-3

by Robert Newcomb

  The orders for this all-important mission were different. This time the First Tribune had warned Aegedes that the taking of slaves was strictly prohibited. Feeding them and trying to return them to Ellistium would only create hardships. This time, no matter whom the stalkers met, they were to be summarily killed. This campaign was about taking the Shashidan gold mines, not human beings. If the mines could be won, their immense wealth would dwarf the rewards of slave-taking thousands of times over. Lucius had also said that should Aegedes need to kill any unruly stalkers as an object lesson to help maintain discipline, no questions would be asked.

  Aegedes looked at his nine remaining vulgarium. Drooling and eager, they sat restlessly atop their horses, hoping that the Carnifex Magnus might change his mind and let them attend the killing spree.

  “Dismount,” Aegedes ordered. “Keep trying to sense endowed blood. Until the others return, we wait here.”

  As his stalkers left their saddles, Aegedes heard some of them utter rudimentary sounds that resembled grumbling. They communicated only in throaty tones, nonsensical syllables, and sweeping gestures. Some Rustannican mystics had learned the strange vulgarium way of speaking, as had each carnifex and legionary tribune.

  After the lumbering stalkers climbed down from their horses, Aegedes noticed one of them starting to collect branches that had fallen from the massive oak tree. Clearly, the lumbering fool was about to light a fire.

  Swinging one leg over his saddle pommel, Aegedes dropped to the grass. As he slipped up behind the stalker, the Carnifex Magnus silently unsheathed his sword.

  Raising the blade high he brought it around swiftly, its broad side slapping hard against the vulgaris’ bare back. Although the blow was not meant to kill, the stinging pain and the red mark would last for days, branding the stalker with the ultimate humiliation of unworthiness.

  Screaming in agony, the stalker swiveled around, intent on murdering whoever had struck him. When he found himself face to face with the Carnifex Magnus he lowered his bloodstained axe and let go a deep growling sound.

  Sheathing his sword, Aegedes looked each stalker in the face.

  “No fires!” he ordered. “You know our orders-this is a clandestine patrol! The next one who disobeys me dies!”

  The stalker Aegedes struck pointed obstinately at the small woodpile he had collected, then gave the Carnifex Magnus a nasty glare. It was clear that he had not given up on a fire, foolish as it might be.

  “Hach-a-garrr!” he shouted.

  “No!” Aegedes shouted back, determined to keep control. He didn’t want to kill the glowering vulgaris, but if need be he would remove his head from his body without hesitation. This was the most important campaign of Aegedes’ life and he would allow no drooling underling to rob him of his glory.

  To stress his resolve, Aegedes reached across his body to touch the hilt of his gladius. Growling in protest, the petulant vulgaris finally lumbered off to join his brothers as they continued to search out endowed blood. Deciding to take a look around, Aegedes walked down the gently sloping field.

  His group had barely entered Shashidan territory, but their incursion constituted an act of war just the same. He couldn’t be sure about how long it would take his patrols to return, but the longer they were gone, the likelier it was that they had met Shashidans who needed killing. Although he treated his carnefiis and vulgarium harshly, he was proud of them. No stalker ranks had taken as many heads or captives as had his, and he meant to keep it that way. Part of him wanted no Shashidans to be found, for that would better ensure the stealthy nature of Vespasian’s advance. But he also wanted his stalkers to take many heads this day, giving him the ability to submit another glowing report to Lucius. As he thought about it, Aegedes smiled. He could live with either outcome, he decided.

  Turning east, he looked toward the Vertex Mostim, the immense mountain range bordering Rustannica and Shashida on their eastern sides. Tall and snow-capped, the granite peaks were beautiful but forbidding. It was said by thePon Q’tar that the civilizations on the Vertex’s eastern side were uncultured, their craft use primitive, and that their people called these same mountains the Tolenkas. But that didn’t matter, he realized. After the empire’s legions took the Shashidan mines and went on to conquer the entire nation, there would be all the time in the world to find a way to cross the Vertex and crush whoever lived on the other side. By then nothing could stand in the empire’s way. The world would finally be theirs, and they would have paid for it dearly in Rustannican blood.

  As he scanned the Vertex, Aegedes could barely see the six majestic waterfalls bursting from the sides of the peaks. Each one had loosed its fresh, cold water for aeons, and each was responsible for forming and sustaining one of the six rivers that clawed deep into Shashida like jagged fingers. The empire’s barges would soon ply those rivers, taking city after city to protect the transport of stolen gold on its way back to the waiting portals. Curving around on either side, Vespasian’s mighty legions would sweep each armada’s flanks clear of any land-based resistance, then take the mines. It would be an amazing fight, and one in which Aegedes would be immensely proud to play his small but important part.

  Aside from Shashida’s reputedly massive gold mines, Rustannicans greatly envied her other, perhaps even more valuable natural resouce-namely, her abundant supply of clean water and the six wide rivers that so briskly carried it due south into her heartland. In Rustannica, the Vertex peaks also supplied water, but not in such copious amounts or of such wonderful purity. Rather than forming rivers, in Rustannica the base of the Vertex had become swampland-most of it unrecoverable, even for their mystics. And so the precious Rustannican water springing from the Vertex had to be manually collected and channeled down a clever series ofPon Q’tar- designed aqueducts that carried it to Rustannican cities. The aqueducts worked well, and the Shashidans had never invaded far enough into Rustannican territory to endanger them. Although two full legions continually guarded the aqueducts, their lengths were so vast that areas of vulnerability always existed.

  Looking back to the south, Aegedes thought for a moment about the Borderlands, the massive tract of Rustannican territory that separated the two warring nations along their entire east-west border. The countryside it encompassed was beautiful and lush-unless thePon Q’tar activated the powerful spells that turned it into a living nightmare from which there was no return. Differing spells could be chosen to morph the inviting terrain into a fiery desert or a frozen wasteland, neither of which could sustain life. Because of that, the Borderlands had always remained uninhabited. Meant to protect Rustannica from invasion by Shashida, the Borderlands killed anyone trapped in their midst. That was not to say that the Borderlands were summoned every time the Shashidans tried crossing it, for the power needed to do so was severely draining to thePon Q’tar clerics and was therefore used only in the direst of emergencies. But effective as it was, the unique environmental weapon had other drawbacks.

  When the Borderlands were summoned, everyone there-be they Rustannican or Shashidan-soon died from exposure to the harsh elements. The Borderlands took no notice of one’s allegiances, killing indiscriminately. Aegedes also knew that thePon Q’tar was not above summoning the Borderlands even if legionnaires were patrolling there, provided that a greater number of Shashidan soldiers could be killed at the same time. The Carnifex Magnus snorted at that notion. War of Attrition, indeed, he thought.

  Moreover, when the Borderlands were summoned, all other uses of the craft were negated there-including magic portals like the one his stalkers had just used to come thousands of leagues across its great expanse. Coming on patrol in Shashida this way was always risky, for if the Borderlands were summoned during a mission, there would be no way home again until thePon Q’tar deemed the threat past and the spell was dismantled. Aegedes had once heard that the magic summoned to bring the Borderlands to life was so awesome that it overpowered all other craft uses, rendering them too feeble to be called forth. In truth
he didn’t know, nor did he care. But one tale he had heard about the Borderlands did awe him. During the entire known history of the Borderlands, only two beings had entered its deadly midst and survived. One of them was said to be called theJin’Sai, a man of wondrous blood that lived on the world’s other side.

  Looking back toward the south, Aegedes’ thoughts returned to how his marauding stalkers were faring. Deciding to rest a bit, he walked back up the grassy knoll to await the return of his patrols.

  THE NEXT SHASHIDAN TO DIE AT PAGANUS’ HAND WAS Agirl child, aged no more than seven years. No endowed blood had been detected in the small village lying four leagues due south. Even so, the Carnifex Magnus had been explicit. Kill every Shashidan you find, he had said, whether of endowed blood or not.

  Spurring his war horse, Paganus charged through the flowery field and soon caught up to the screaming, fleeing child. As he deftly swung his gladius, the blond girl’s neck sliced open like paper and her head fell from her shoulders to go tumbling to the ground. Her body followed, its arms and legs flailing about madly in all directions. Wheeling his horse, Paganus lowered his bloodstained axe and looked down the hill toward another gruesome scene.

  The entire village was ablaze. It had been small, holding only a few wooden buildings and a smattering of Vigors-loving souls unworthy of life. It had also been quite pedestrian, showing little of the usual Shashidan propensity toward garishness that he so hated. He much preferred the stark and martial aspects of Rustannican architecture, with its marble columns, broad forums, and statues of heroic emperors.

  This village held the usual cross section of Shashidan scum-men, women, children, and the elderly. Azure bolts loosed from Paganus’ fingertips had set every building ablaze, and the structures were now little more than smoldering shells. He didn’t know the name of the place, nor did he need to. All that mattered was that everyone in this forlorn village died. As his warhorse danced beneath him, Paganus could smell the sickly-sweet odor of burning flesh, telling him that the job was nearly done. Dismounting and gathering up the dead girl’s head and body, he slung them across his saddle, then mounted again and galloped back toward the village.

  Riding into the town square, he pulled his horse to a skidding stop. It seemed that his vulgarium had done their jobs well. According to their orders, they were dragging the corpses into the square and heaping them into a pile. Others were busily using their axes to chop the bodies into pieces to make their immolation more efficient.

  Walking his horse forward, Paganus unceremoniously shoved the girl’s severed head and lifeless body from his saddle onto the growing pile. As it landed, one of the drooling, axe-wielding stalkers stopped chopping and stared up at him.

  “Rach-tu-lag?” he asked.

  “Of course that one too, you cretinous hulk!” he shouted. “Why do you think we came all this way?”

  Paganus was about to jump down from his horse and give the nearly mindless vulgaris a good tongue-lashing when he heard a woman scream. Swiveling in his saddle, he turned to look.

  One of the stalkers had found a survivor. She was young and pretty, and she seemed to be unharmed. She was insane with fear, and much of her dress was covered in someone else’s blood. The stalker dragged her by her hair from a smoldering building and tossed her to the ground. Standing astride her, he started to remove his fringed warrior’s skirt, making his intentions all too plain. As he dropped down atop her, the other vulgarium started cheering and shouting.

  Whipping his horse, Paganus drew his gladius and charged straight toward the aroused vulgaris. As he neared, he took the stalker’s head off with one swing of his sword, and the headless corpse collapsed atop the young Shashidan woman. Screaming insanely, she managed to shove the stalker off herself, then sprang to her feet. Wheeling his horse, Paganus charged back toward her. In moments her severed head and lifeless body lay alongside those of the rebellious stalker, their yellow and red blood commingling to feed the thirsty dirt.

  Paganus turned and glared harshly at his other eight vulgarium. Pointing his sword at them, he shouted, “You know your orders! There is no time for this! Now do your duties and finish cutting up those corpses! We still have two more leagues to cover!”

  Amid much growling, the eight vulgarium finished their grisly task, with the heads and other body parts of the dead stalker and the young woman finally added to the pile. Swarms of hungry flies had already started feasting on the easy prey of gaping wounds and open, unseeing eyes.

  After looking around the smoldering village one last time, Paganus ordered his vulgarium to mount their horses and form a line. Walking his horse closer, he raised one hand and pointed it at the pile of corpses. At once the pile burst into flame, adding yet more stink to the air.

  Ordering his stalkers onward in the search for right-leaning endowed blood, Paganus led the charge from the destroyed village, and the stalkers again headed south.

  TEN HOURS LATER, AEGEDES RESTED AGAINST THE TRUNK OFthe lone oak tree. Reaching into the pack that he had taken from his horse, he grasped some more dried jerky and his water flask. Because he wanted his stalkers to move fast, such meager rations were all that he had allowed each one to bring along. The jerky was tough and the water warm, but they would do for now.

  Aegedes looked up at the sky. Night had fallen and the cloudless heavens held too many stars to count. The three red moons beamed down peacefully, belying the mayhem that would soon accompany Vespasian’s mighty war machine. With his nine vulgarium gathered quietly around him, Aegedes waited.

  Soon the first of his patrols returned. They had killed some Shashidans traveling the roads, but otherwise their area of responsibility had been clear of endowed blood. As more patrols returned, their stories were much the same. The souls they had killed were few, the resistance meager, and there had been no stalker injuries.

  Finally Paganus and his group rode up the grassy slope. Pulling his horse to a stop, the carnifex dismounted and bowed to his master. From his resting place against the base of the tree Aegedes took another sip of water and regarded his carnifex calmly. The fact that one stalker was missing was not lost on him.

  Aegedes listened intently to Paganus’ report, including the killing of the unruly vulgaris. The Carnifex Magnus stood up before replying.

  “It seems that our job is done,” he said, “and that the area in question has been cleared.” Walking to his warhorse, he swung up into the saddle.

  “I go to report to the First Tribune,” he said, his horse dancing eagerly beneath him. “While I am away, do not leave this place. Keep trying to sense endowed blood, and above all protect this lone portal with your lives. If endowed blood is detected, search it out immediately and kill its owners. This is the most important campaign in the history of the empire and we cannot afford mistakes. You will likely see hundreds more portals forming within the hour. At that time, the tribunes will issue us new orders. You have done well, but our bloody work has just begun.”

  Paganus gave Aegedes a crisp salute. “As you say, my lord,” he answered.

  Wasting no time, Aegedes galloped his horse directly into the center of the azure portal, then he was gone.

  Looking around the meager campsite, Paganus breathed a sigh of relief. For the time being their mission was over. Aegedes seemed pleased and he was off to give his report. Soon many more portals would form, then the Rustannican war machine would start pouring through them and this quiet place would become a madhouse of activity.

  Deciding to take what rest he could, Paganus sat down in Aegedes’ place and leaned his tired back against the lone tree.

  CHAPTER XXXII

  “I AGREE,” FAEGAN SAID. THE WIZARD’S TONE WAS UNCHARACTERISTICALLY dour, his mood pensive.

  “The outlook is not promising,” he added, “and it seems that whatever could have gone wrongdid go wrong. Who knew that Khristos and his Blood Vipers would be waiting on the shore of the Azure Sea, or that those rock walls might suddenly arise?”

  He gav
e Shailiha a reassuring smile and reached out to touch her hand. “But take heart,” he added softly. “Tristan and his group are a sturdy and resourceful lot. If anyone can reach Shashida, it is they.”

  Sighing, the crippled wizard lifted Nicodemus from his lap. But the still-sleeping cat was not ready to be dislodged from the warmth of his master’s care, and his claws remained hooked in the fabric of Faegan’s worn black robe.

  With a smile the wizard called the craft to gently release the cat’s claws and he set Nicodemus down on the floor. Not to be denied, the cat stretched lazily and wended his way among the meeting attendees’ legs, rubbing his arched back against them.

  The topics being discussed in the Archives of the Redoubt were worrisome. Faegan, Traax, Shailiha, Abbey, Aeolus, and Sigrid sat at a meeting table, each person’s face long with concern for their beloved friends who were sailing into the unknown. Three days had passed since Tristan’s message had reached Shailiha by way of their matching medallions, and the princess was becoming anxious. Compounding her worries was that little could be done until Khristos and his vipers surfaced. Faegan and Aeolus had explained Khristos’ history to everyone, and Shailiha had been surprised to hear of him.

  Several times since receiving Tristan’s message, the princess had been tempted to contact her brother before finally deciding against it. When the Envoys of Crysenium had enchanted Tristan and Shailiha’s medallions, they had warned theJin’Sai that the gift could be easily overused, risking its loss altogether. And so Shailiha resolved to call on her medallion only if there was something of importance to convey to Tristan. So far, nothing had arisen. After getting Tristan’s message, Aeolus and Traax had led a group of Minion warriors deep into the Caves in a try to hunt Khristos down, but they returned empty-handed. Nor had Aeolus divined a hint of endowed blood.